


All and Then Most of You, Some and Now None of You

by MoanDiary



Series: Strange Trails [1]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: F/M, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 21:19:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3952147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoanDiary/pseuds/MoanDiary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time is ten cycles after he left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All and Then Most of You, Some and Now None of You

The first time is ten cycles after he left.

He appears out of the shimmering heat-haze suddenly, at first a mirage, then solid. Haggard and dusty but real, at last. He doesn’t come from the wastes, as she’s often imagined, but from within the walls of the Citadel, climbing up beside her and sitting with a heavy thump.

Furiosa is perched on the Citadel's south barricade, where she usually goes to be alone when the obsequiousness of the Wretched and the relentless adoration of the war pups starts to fray her nerves. She’d heard the cry go up from the sentries that a car was approaching from the north, but it didn’t cross her mind that it would be him. A lot of lone drifters have been drawn to the Citadel recently by its new promise of food, water, freedom, and safety.

“They said you’d be up here."

Furiosa regards him from the corner of her eye. He is unchanged. It seems impossible that he could be the same when her life has been spun around. She doesn't know how to say that, so she just grunts an affirmation.

He still smells like motor oil and sweat, still has a week of stubble on his face and that ridiculous tuft of hair sticking up at the back of his head. Still squints blandly into the sun, his face inscrutable.

“You come for water?” She asks. “Food? Guzzoline?"

“Wouldn’t say no to any of that.” He barks a laugh.

 _But is that what you came here for?_ She wants to ask but doesn’t.

Instead she stands, beats the dust off of her fine new driving leathers, and makes her way back towards the Citadel. Max follows.

“Hail Furiosa!” The cry goes up from the tents and shanties of the Wretched as she passes. Children flock behind her, staring up in awe and excitement. Furiosa spares a single look back at Max to gauge his reaction. If he has one, nothing shows beyond an indulgent half-smile at the two children tugging curiously on his jacket.

Capable is shelling peas near the entrance to the great hall when they exit the elevator. She raises a hand in greeting, betraying mild surprise when she notices Max. “We didn’t think we’d see you again,” she says. Max executes a little shrug, as if to agree.

The gang of war pups deconstructing a huge engine in the hall raise an affectionate ruckus as she passes. She lifts her metal hand in acknowledgement and they chatter excitedly to each other. Eventually they reach the heavy door of her private quarters. She doesn’t allow herself anything near the airs and privileges Immortan Joe did but she does relish this space, if only for its ability to remove her from the public eye. Being revered is hard work.

“Something to eat?” She opens her small private pantry and brings out some hard cornmeal biscuits, and a sort of soft brick of bean paste, and a handful of berries from the water gardens. Max gets a vaguely crazed look in his eye which she takes to mean he’s hungry.

While he’s tearing into the food, she pumps a pitcher of water and plunks it down on the table in front of him. He grasps it with both hands and drinks for a very long time. Only when he finishes everything does he sit back and take a long breath, followed by a longer burp that seems to startle him with its intensity.

Furiosa can’t help but break down in a fit of laughter. Maybe only slightly hysterical. When she finally stops, Max is looking at her, his eyes creased in amusement.

“Things are good?” he says, more a statement than a question.

She nods. “They are. It should be okay as long as the water holds out. And as long as no war parties show up."

Max's gaze is sharp on hers. “Have there been any?”

She waves a hand dismissively. “A few small fries. Most of them sun-crazy. Desperate for water. Nothing we can’t handle."

He relaxes back into his chair. “You mean nothing _you_ can’t handle."

Her smile is not altogether humble. “And you?"

“Nothing changes out there. You know that."

“Nothing changes but what you change yourself."

Their eyes meet. She feels like she’s looking in a mirror. They’re still the same, all the way through.

Furiosa is upon him, her mouth insistent, her flesh and metal hands both fisting in the leather of his jacket. His arms come up around her back and he responds in kind. When her tongue presses against his lips, he parts them obligingly. Her fingernails dig into the back of his neck and a deep rumbling groan rises from his chest. After a long while, she pulls back with a lingering scrape of her teeth against his bottom lip.

Max is staring at her steadily, breathing hard, a kind of steely adoration in his eyes.

“Bed,” she murmurs.

He scoops her up easily and carries her to the broad four-poster at the other end of the room — another of the Immortan's extravagances she decided to keep — and sits heavily on the edge with her straddling his legs. His week’s stubble and chapped lips blaze a rough trail along her jaw and down her neck.

While he’s occupied, Furiosa pushes off his jacket and flings it onto the floor behind her, followed quickly by his shirt. An improvised roadmap of old scars spreads across his chest and arms. Bullet hole landmarks with long, thin knife wound highways connecting them. Her fingers trace their meandering path. For a moment, she imagines she could follow them backwards to figure out where he started.

“Lie back.” He complies readily and watches her as she stands to unbuckle her belts and remove her metal arm. It falls to the stone floor with a noisy clank and is quickly followed by her shirt and trousers. Max makes a soft noise when the last piece of clothing falls away, but simply watches her as she climbs back on top of him, leaning down to catch his lips in another searing kiss.

Then she straightens and uses her hand to guide one of his between her legs. His calloused fingers move slowly at first, spreading her wetness and stroking her gently. Then he finds her clit and begins circling it teasingly.

Furiosa moans, planting her hand on the mattress beside his head for balance. Max’s other hand comes up to steady her, stroking from her breast slowly down to her hip and back as the movement of his hand between her legs intensifies.

She begins to grind herself down onto his hand as her pleasure rises and he rumbles approvingly. She comes shuddering and gasping, the muscles in her thighs clenching as she bears down on him. His eyes race from her face down her body and back, seemingly trying to take all of her in.

She collapses on top of him, rubbing herself languorously along the length of his body like a cat as she waits for her breath to steady and the strength to return to her muscles. Max’s sorely neglected erection strains plaintively against the fabric of his trousers beneath her, but he seems content to wait, his hands stroking slowly up and down her back.

When Furiosa recovers, she pushes herself up to sit astride him again, inching backwards so she can unfasten his trousers and start tugging them down his legs. Max’s hands join hers and together they work his trousers and boots off. She takes a long moment to appreciate the sight of him stretched out before her, all lean muscle and tanned skin, the only healthy full-life man she’s been with in years. Then she clambers back onto him, perched on his thighs so she can take his cock in her hand.

She squeezes him teasingly and strokes once firmly from base to tip.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his neck arching. His eyes are half-shut but stay resolutely fixed on her face as her hand begins to move at a steady pace. After a few moments, he stills her hand with his own.

“Can I—“ He pants. “Wanna be inside you."

Furiosa smiles and sits up on her knees, positioning herself, and then lowering herself down onto his length. They both sigh in unison as he slides home. She begins to move slowly, her hand braced on his shoulder, his hips thrusting up to meet hers, adjusting carefully until the angle is just right and every thrust is hitting her just there, and it’s perfect.

Her fingernails scrape against the skin of his shoulder as she approaches her peak again. She cries out and arches when she comes, tremors racing through her, Max gazing up at her like the Wretched gaze up at the aqua-cola spouts. Like parched earth soaking up rain. Her arm gives out and she collapses onto him again, his hips still thrusting desperately against her, his mouth feverishly kissing any part of her he can reach — her cheek, her ear, her neck — and a moment later he comes too, a strangled cry escaping him as he shakes, his fingers pressing bruises into her hips.

She rolls off him after she comes back to herself, and they lay there in silence for a while, catching their breath.

“How long will you stay?”

“Not long. Maybe until tomorrow."

She pauses for a long moment, then asks the question she couldn’t ask earlier. “Why did you come back?"

He turns his head and fixes her with a level gaze. “You know why."

She does. And she can feel the invisible connection that ties them to each other like a length of chain. Vibrant and pulsing with energy now as they look at each other, but always there. Tugging insistently at her over the months since he left. His blood in her veins. His life owed to her and hers to him.

She puts her hand on his chest and feels the steady drumbeat of his heart.

That’s the first time.


End file.
